


50 Reps

by ImNeitherNor



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: AU, Angst, Bets, Billy Runs, Complete, Fluff, M/M, Muscle Boys, One Shot, Reps, Steve gets his life together, Steve isn't having it, Teasing, weights, work out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/pseuds/ImNeitherNor
Summary: It seemed like all of his life, Steve had been pushed around.It was the normal--the expected--and he had a terrible habit of just letting it happen.He was tired of it.Leave it to Billy Hargrove to change that.AU!





	50 Reps

**Author's Note:**

> This has been bouncing around in my head for a while as someone who LOVES weights. Lifting/benching are an old friend of mine and I just _needed_ this.
> 
> So I wrote it!
> 
> Enjoy!

50 Reps

 

 

 

            It seemed like all of his life, Steve had been pushed around.

 

            It was the normal--the expected--and he had a terrible habit of just letting it happen.

 

            He was tired of it.

 

            The overbearing sign on the front of the gym made his skin crawl. Sure, in high school, he had been involved in sports. He was a great runner, an even better swimmer. The year after graduation hadn’t been kind to his body. The lack of routine and maintenance had done a number on him. Granted, he wasn’t overweight. He was just… out of shape.

 

            If there was one thing Steve _could_ control in his life—it was this. Maybe if he got his body under control, the rest of his life would follow. Maybe having more muscle would give him more confidence? Who the fuck was he kidding? He chewed on his lower lip and finally entered the gym.

 

~*~

 

            “So, you’re interested in bulk, then, not endurance?” The man speaking looked up from the table and Steve swallowed.

 

            “Uh, yeah?” Steve curled his fingers into the fabric of his jeans. It was better than crossing his arms over his chest. His dad had yelled at him about that. Scolded, really. _What are you? A fourteen year old girl?_

 

            “I’ve got the perfect person, then. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but I think you’ll like him,” When the guy smirked, Steve felt his stomach bottom out. “It may also help whatever this is,” and he was gesturing at Steve, chuckling, as if there was some obvious joke that Steve should be getting here.

 

            Steve wasn’t getting it.

 

            “What do you mean, this?” Steve frowned.

 

            “Do you always look like you’re about to run?” That smirk again.

 

            “Wha--! No! That’s not…” Steve clenched his jaw and reminded himself that _this_ is why he was here.

 

            “Like I said, I think he can help with that, too.”

 

            Who, exactly, could make Steve _NOT_ Steve? That made no damned sense.

 

~*~

 

            Who, Steve found out, was Billy Hargrove. The guy was built like a _tank_ and he apparently hated clothes. It was the gym’s requirement to wear them, but Billy seemed to go out of his way to wear the bare _minimum_. In shorts that rivaled Steve’s basketball shorts and a tank top that was _so_ a size too small, he was the image of fucking Adonis. Steve remembered, vaguely, stories like _Beowulf_ in English Lit and he was pretty fucking sure that if the guy was real, he would look like Billy.

 

            Of course, Beowulf would probably be taller, but Steve was interested in keeping his limbs intact, so that wasn’t something he was going to say out loud.

 

            “Harrington?” Billy glanced up from the paper he was holding, his ice-blue eyes catching and holding Steve’s like a wave. He watched him, his heart hammering against his chest. “That’s you, right?”

 

            “Uh. Yeah,” Steve bobbed his head in confirmation and Billy raised an eyebrow.

 

            “Alright. Let’s see what you got,” Billy smirked and Steve’s stomach coiled. He thought the other guy was dangerous? Billy, with that smirk and his lashes low over his eyes, looked like a ticking time bomb.

 

~*~

 

            Steve had been working out at the gym for a week, and his body _hurt_. That didn’t matter to Billy, though. No, it only seemed to _excite_ the guy.

 

            “Harder, Harrington. Push _harder_ ,” Billy was leaning over him, that infuriating necklace dangling above his head as he lifted the weight above his shoulders. He grunted, and as his arms started to tremble, Billy caught the bar and laughed. “You can’t do two more, pretty boy?”

 

            “Fuck off,” Steve grumbled. The grin that Billy shot him made his heart stutter and he sat up, carefully avoiding knocking his skull against the weight. He waved his arms out to the side in an attempt to loosen the muscles and to make them stop shaking.

 

            “Two more and you would have had it,” Billy reminded him and Steve turned to glare.

 

            “And I _can’t_ ,” Steve pushed himself up from the bench and then stumbled. His body ached. He could feel it in his fucking _bones_ and Billy just continued to laugh.

 

            Billy Hargrove was infuriating, and it wasn’t just because he pushed Steve beyond his physical limits.

 

            No, he was infuriating because Steve _liked_ him. He had known he was bi since high school, had thoughts about a couple of boys in his class, but he had never acted on them. Now, three and sometimes four times a week, he’d have to push weights, fighting a hard-on while fucking _Beowulf_ leaned over and taunted him. Every time, Steve could smell his cologne, his shaving cream, his body soap. He could see all the lines of his body, flexed and ready to grab the bar if Steve’s arms failed. To _protect_ Steve. Of course, it was from injuring himself, _but still_.

 

            “You _can’t_ or you _won’t_ ,” Billy slid up next to him near the water fountain and leaned his hip against the wall. Steve ignored him as he drank, his hand pinching the handle. “We can make a deal, Harrington. If you reach fifty reps, I’ll let you kiss me.” His voice was low and teasing, his eyes sharp like a predator before it pounced.

 

            Steve choked on the water and stood up. He turned, eyes wild and jaw slack.

 

            “You can’t say shit like that,” Steve hissed as he wiped his mouth and chin. “And I don’t—I’m not—“

 

            “ _Please_ ,” Billy snorted, “You look at me like I’m a piece of candy. Tell me, you got a sweet tooth?” He grinned, all teeth, and Steve flushed all the way under his shirt. “Is that why you’re here? Sucking on too many sweets?”

 

            “ _Hargrove_ ,” Steve breathed and his eyes darted around the gym.

 

            “Harrington,” Billy sang his name and Steve wanted to punch _and_ kiss him. “Are you scared you can’t? I get it, you know. It is pretty difficult to do fifty reps at that weight, and you _are_ pretty small—“

 

            “Fine!” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and set his other hand on his hip. “Fine. You’re so _infuriating_.”

 

            “Ooh, big words now,” Billy reached over and squeezed Steve’s bicep. “I can’t wait to see you do those reps, pretty boy.”

 

            What Steve heard, though? _I can’t wait to kiss you_.

 

~*~

 

10 Reps

 

            The first week following their conversation was all about where Steve was and how far he could push himself. Billy leaned a little closer than necessary. He brushed his fingers over Steve’s before lifting the bar above his head and clanking it back down into the shelf. He taunted him and tacked on _pretty boy_ whenever Steve felt like keeling over. It would give him that extra push to finish whatever he was doing.

 

            By Saturday, he was up to ten reps. It didn’t seem like a lot, but the seventy pounds said differently and his arms felt like Jell-O afterward.

 

~*~

 

20 Reps

 

            “What’s wrong with you?” Billy had his arm on the wall. Steve leaned against the lockers, his chest rising and falling erratically as he tried to calm down.

 

            “It’s _nothing_ ,” Steve glared and pushed himself off the wall. He walked over to the sink and splashed water on his face. His nerves were twisted, causing spikes of fear underneath all of the aches in his muscles.

 

            “It’s not nothing, Harrington.” Billy was in his space again, and this time, Steve backed up until he hit one of the towel dispensers. “You almost dropped the weight on yourself. Where the fuck was your head at?”

 

            _Monsters, asshole_.

 

            “Kissing you,” Steve shrugged, but he could tell Billy knew better. He was watching Steve as if he knew something about him that he shouldn’t—like he knew what monsters were.

 

            “You’re only at twenty reps, Harrington. Don’t do that again. I might die before you get to fifty,” Billy watched him, and it wasn’t his normal look. He was frowning and there were shadows in his eyes.

 

            “You wish,” Steve muttered, but Billy didn’t respond. He turned and left Steve in the locker room.

 

            Maybe Billy knew about monsters, too?

 

~*~

30 Reps

           

            “More. Give me more, Harrington. _Come on_.”

 

            Steve was going to kill him. Sweat dripped down his temples into his hair and all he could think about was what Billy would feel like underneath him, or on top of him, or in _any_ position where he could have made Billy _moan_ that.

 

            “Fuck you,” Steve wheezed, and his elbows finally locked as he lifted the bar with its weight above his shoulders. Billy caught it and set it back onto the shelf, that wolfish grin back on his face. The way he moved with the weight, the bar, with such ease and confidence, infuriated Steve (and shot heat South).

 

            Steve panted, his shirt sticking to his skin and his body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and arousal. He sat up quicker than he should have and swayed. Billy’s hand landed on his shoulder, steadying him, and then he felt Billy’s breath against his ear.

 

            “That might be worth one hundred reps, _Steve_ , and that was only thirty.”

 

_Goddamn._

 

~*~

 

40 Reps

 

            Billy was a fucking _coward_.

 

            Ten reps away and Billy had handed Steve’s training regimen over to another trainer. He had changed his hours and ghosted on him. It felt like he was being stood up, which was ridiculous. Being stood up meant there was something there, that there was something _more_ than just their hour sessions or stupid banter.

 

            It could have been a joke, right? Billy could have been fucking with him with the fifty-rep challenge. After all, it wasn’t like he had expected Steve to reach the goal.

 

            And now Steve was determined to do it. Whether it was with Billy or not, he _would_ reach fifty reps and he _would_ find that asshole and demand an explanation. He didn’t even care about the kiss anymore. He just wanted to know _why_. Was he really that fucking terrible? Was he that unattractive or awful to hang out with?

 

            That week, Steve found himself in the gym every day, fueled by his anger and his inability to cope with being fucked over— _again_.

 

            By the end of the week, Steve had accomplished forty reps.

 

 

~*~

 

50 Reps

 

            “Nice job, Steve,” his trainer grinned as he clapped Steve on the shoulder. Not many of the trainees could say that they could lift seventy-five pounds fifty times in a row. Not without heaving, at least. Yet, Steve _could_. He did it, and…

 

            And he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was fifty reps on a bench at a gym. How that could translate into his regular routine was beyond him. Sure, he had gained the muscle he had lost back. He even felt ten times better. He woke up with more energy and, on the nights where he was unbearably exhausted, he slept without dreaming.

 

            When Steve _did_ dream, it was about tan skin, curly blonde hair, blue eyes and a devilish mouth.

 

            It was enough to drive him insane.

 

            Steve was tempted to cancel his training as he left that day, but thought better of it. He wasn’t going to quit because of Billy. That gave him power, and for a long time, Steve had allowed other people to have power over him.

 

            Not anymore.

 

~*~

 

            It was two weeks until Steve walked into the gym and saw Billy again. The biggest difference, though, was that Billy was working out. He wasn’t training, and for a moment, Steve allowed himself to appreciate his body. His muscles were obnoxious, rippling and tensing with each push of the bar. His feet were planted on the ground, his calves surprisingly lax considering the load his upper body was taking.

 

            Realizing that Billy didn’t have a spotter, Steve scowled. Billy had _reamed_ him about not having one, about always watching out for his own safety. Here he was, being the asshole Steve knew him to be, without anyone covering him if the weight became too much.

 

            Steve dropped his things off next to the wall. He didn’t bother with the locker room, instead marching himself over to where Billy was lying on the bench. When those blue eyes met his, shock flashed through them. It was gone as quickly as it came, though, and he moved the bar back onto its cradle.

 

            “Something on your mind, Harrington?” Billy sat up and Steve wanted to punch him. All he wanted to do was ask _why_ , but that still gave more power to Billy than what he deserved.

 

            “You don’t have a spotter,” Steve went for indignant instead of angry and raised an eyebrow.

 

            “Yeah, and?”

 

            “And you told me to _never_ do that.”

 

            “Yeah, you, who had trouble with—“

 

            “Don’t even, Hargrove. Don’t pull that stupid shit with me. Weights are weights. If it fell, it could crush your skull. Your words, not mine.”

 

            Billy hesitated. Steve was waiting for that grin to cross his face again, but it was infuriatingly absent.

 

            “So,” Steve continued, “You either have a death risk or you’re stupid as hell. Both of those are terrible options.”

 

            “What do you want?” Billy finally looked agitated and Steve may actually hit him. _He_ had the nerve to look irritated?

 

            “Nothing, asshole,” Steve bit out. He turned and was proud that he didn’t stomp off to his shit. He picked his bag up and walked into the locker room. His skin itched and he knew it wasn’t something he could scratch. If anything, he wanted his hands on Billy, but the guy clearly wasn’t having that.

 

            “ _Asshole_ ,” Steve repeated to himself as he shoved his bag into his locker. He turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin. Billy stood behind him, an amused glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. Oh, so _that_ Billy was back.

 

            “Talking to yourself now, Harrington?” Billy leaned forward, and Steve _knew_ he was supposed to lean back. He was supposed to shy away, laugh awkwardly, push at Billy’s chest, do _anything_ to defuse the situation. That was what Billy wanted. He could see it in his eyes.

 

            But Steve was tired of being pushed around, of being walked on, of rolling over and letting it happen. Steve didn’t need anyone to fix _him_. He could do it his damned self.

 

            Instead of responding, Steve reached forward, bunched his fists into Billy’s tank top, and yanked him forward. The kiss was rough once they met—all teeth and tongue and barely any lips. By the end of it, Billy had him against the open locker, hand on his jaw, and Steve could taste his hunger, his need. His body vibrated with it as he explored every inch of Steve’s mouth.

 

            So why had he run?

 

            They were both out of breath by the time they parted. Steve licked his lips and he watched Billy’s eyes follow the movement. That predatory gaze was back. The hunger simmered below the surface with Billy, restrained and confined. Steve just had to coax it out.

 

            “How do I know you’ve met fifty reps?” Billy murmured and Steve grinned.

 

            “I’m at seventy-five now,” Steve congratulated himself on how smooth his voice was _and_ the surprise that flashed over Billy’s face.

 

            “Really? What’s gotten under your skin, pretty boy?” Billy leaned into Steve’s space, all muscle and power.

 

            “You said I could fuck you at one hundred. I don’t know about you, but I keep my word,” Steve lowered his lids and grinned at the flush that spread from Billy’s chest to his neck.

 

            “ _Jesus_ , Harrington.”

 

            “Twenty five more to go, Hargrove, but I need a trainer who can help me get there,” Steve slid his hand down Billy’s chest, across his stomach, and cupped his clothed cock. Billy grunted and clasped his hand on the top of the open locker.

 

            “Who can show me the right moves,” Steve continued as he rolled his palm over the thickness in Billy’s shorts. “Who can stand over me and tell me _exactly_ what to do.” He leaned forward and drug his teeth over Billy’s lower lip. He swiped his tongue over the sting and then pushed forward.

 

            Billy stumbled back. His eyes were hazy with arousal, his hands fisting and relaxing in an obvious attempt to control himself. Steve snapped the locker shut behind himself and smirked.

 

            “But you said one hundred, right? Until then, it’s just kissing. Better up your training game, Hargrove. I might die before we get to fuck each other.” Steve laughed at the look of surprise that Billy gave him and walked out of the locker room.

 

            No, Steve wasn’t going to chase anymore. He wasn’t going to roll over. He wasn’t going to give in.

 

            Steve may not be _King Steve_ anymore, but he _was_ going to have control over his life and he _was_ going to make Hargrove beg.

 

            The only question was: will Hargrove beg to be fucked or beg to fuck Steve?

 

           Twenty five more reps, and Steve would have his answer.

 

 

 


End file.
